by JS Taylor
It’s a lot to take in. This all feels so fast.
My heart is exploding like a sunburst. But my head keeps telling me this could end badly.
“Adam I…” Unexpectedly, my eyes fill with tears, and there’s a lump in my throat.
“I know,” says Adam stroking my cheek. “You’re not used to this. I’m not either. Just say you feel the same about me Summer. Say you want us to have a relationship together.”
A million thoughts explode in my head. But in the end there’s just one emotion left.
I really am falling in love this man, I realise. It’s as simple, and complicated as that.
“I do,” I whisper. “I do want us to be together.”
Tears are running down my face now, and I’m not even sure where they’ve come from.
Part of me feels as if I’m falling into a deep black hole. My whole life I’ve always had a back-up plan. This is uncharted territory. I’m moving into a place where there is no plan B. No sensible way out.
And it occurs to me, I’d be dragging Adam into a very difficult situation.
“Adam,” I sigh, thinking of the momentousness of what he’s suggesting. “It will be so hard. I’m on the show now. And you…”
“I’ll own the show,” he finishes, “In just over a week.”
“Even if you own the show,” I point out, “it will still be problematic.” I frown, hating the idea of causing him stress.
“Wouldn’t you just rather find a celebrity girlfriend?” I say exasperatedly. “You wouldn’t need to sneak around. It would be so much easier for you.”
To my surprise, Adam bursts out laughing.
“It would be easier,” I repeat, frowning.
He tilts his head, gazing at me adoringly.
What did I say to deserve that look?
“And what if I don’t want easy?” he grins. “What if I want difficult…” he kisses my forehead, “stubborn…” his lips meet my nose, “fascinating Summer Evans?”
His lips are on my mouth now, and I melt into his kiss, unable to resist.
“I suppose if that’s what you want,” I murmur, breathing into him, “There’s no help for you.”
Chapter 3
“So girls, I guess you’re excited?”
The journalist holds her pad eagerly, pen poised.
“I mean,” she prompts, “no-one expected you to get through to the next show, did they? The odds were against you.”
Tammy, George and I are sat nervously in the music room of the Sing-Win house. It’s the first time any of us have been interviewed. Ever. And Tammy and I are terrified of saying the wrong thing.
Luckily, George’s natural confidence means she’s been fielding most of the questions. She sits easily in her chair, her long designer-jean-clad legs crossed.
George is wearing Jimmy Choo pink stilettos and a structured blazer over a white band tee-shirt. She looks every bit at home, with her straight blonde hair pulled into a casual ponytail. Barely there make-up accentuates her flawless skin and sparkling blue eyes. George is the very picture of a pop star in an interview. Or perhaps a model, dressed down for an international flight.
In contrast, Tammy has her hoody zipped as high up as it will go, as though trying to disappear into it. Her little shoulders are slumped forward, shiny black hair hanging over. And her pretty Asian features are drawn in a mixture of stress and suspicion.
I’ve done my best to look the part, mussing my dirty-blonde hair in my best rock-chick impression, and teaming a denim skirt with punk leggings and multi-layered tops. My lips are glossed, and my brown eyes are highlighted with a slick of silver eye-shadow. But I can’t match George’s confidence. She’s certainly leading the field for casual glamour today.
“That’s right Emily,” George is saying earnestly. “The odds were totally against us. None of us expected to go through. But here we are.”
George beams a baby-pink lipstick smile.
The journalist smiles back, and jots a few notes. I peer at her pad, but the writing is in a kind of code. Shorthand, I guess.
“I hear it’s your birthday in a few days,” says the journalist, looking at George. “Will you be celebrating it with the other contestants?”
Damn, she’s a good journalist. How did she know it’s George’s birthday?
George’s smile flickers momentarily.
I know for a fact that none of the other contestants will be invited to her birthday celebrations. So I’m wondering how she’ll field this rather barbed question.
“Do you know what?” says George, with a disingenuous little laugh. “I’ve barely even thought about it. We’ve been so busy.”
“It’s a big birthday,” presses the journalist. “Twenty-one, isn’t it?”
Twenty-one. George is young compared to me and Tammy.
“That’s right it is a big birthday,” replies George. “But I really haven’t made any plans. Treat me nice and you might get an invite,” she adds, fluttering her eyelashes at the journalist.
Emily laughs uneasily, and makes a few notes.
Then her eyes flick back from the pad, and up to me.
I feel anxiety settling around my stomach.
Please. Don’t ask my anything about Adam Morgan.
“Summer,” she says, “from what I hear, you’ve had a pretty tough time, before you got on the show?”
Here we go. Tragic past. At least she’s not pressing me on my love life.
I’m determined not to play to the press cliché. Journalist Emily writes for a women’s gossip mag. So I’m pretty sure this is the angle she’s looking for.
I shrug non-committedly.
“Not more than any other struggling singer,” I say. “I worked hard. I got a break. There are lots of girls out there who have worked just as hard, and are still waiting for their break.”
George shoots me a glare, but I ignore her.
Tammy and I are in agreement on this. We don’t want the sympathy vote.
It’s all right for George. Her privileged upbringing doesn’t lend itself to dissection in the national press.
“But Summer,” presses Emily, “you walked for two hours, every day, just to work in a pub which had a karaoke machine. So you could practise your microphone technique.”
“Yeah, I did do that,” I admit. “I’m from a little town. There’s not much in the way of music equipment there.”
Emily seems pleased with this. She makes a few notes.
“And you sang in working men’s clubs,” she adds. “That’s why you were able to turn the crowd around on Sing-Win. When they were all against you. You were used to dealing with rowdy crowds of drunk men. That paid off.”
I shoot a glance at her face, to see if she’s implying anything untoward in that particular detail of my past. But if anything, Emily looks impressed.
“Crowd control is something every singer learns, when they work their way up,” I reply, trying to keep my answers short.
“And how about your family?” asks Emily. “You dropped out of music school about the same time your younger sister fell pregnant. They must be behind you all the way.”
“Um. Yeah. I guess. I mean. Yes. My family are very supportive,” I reply, stumbling over my words.
How does she know about Sam?
“Your younger sister’s pregnancy came as a shock?” asks Emily.
It’s not really question, and considering how much she seems to know about me, I figure she’s done her research.
“When Sam fell pregnant with Ben, it was unexpected,” I admit.
“And the family had to make sacrifices? To provide for her?”
“It’s not a sacrifice when you want to do it,” I say coldly, warning Emily with my eyes that I don’t like this line of questioning.
Sam’s young boyfriend vanished from the scene. And the truth is, we did make sacrifices to provide for Sam. Not that she ever seemed to appreciate it. At sixteen she was too young.
“What about your nephew
, Ben?” asks Emily consulting her pad, and shifting the subject under my steely gaze. “He would be five now? Does he like to hear you sing?”
My face splits into a wide smile at the thought of Ben.
“Yeah, he does,” I smile. “I used to sing to him when he was a baby. We still sing together sometimes.”
“But it must have hurt, giving up your music studies, to help the family,” pushes Emily. “From what your old college tell me, you were a star pupil.”
She spoke to my old tutors?
“They said that?” I’m blushing slightly.
Emily nods.
“That’s… Really nice of them,” I say. “I hope they’re proud of me now. It wasn’t wasted, my studies, as you can see. I’m putting what I learned to good use.”
“What about your romantic relationships?” asks Emily. “Has your dedication to music come at the expense of those?”
Jeez! Talk about the third degree!
I cast a glance at Tammy and George, hoping for a steer. But they both look as uncertain as I feel.
“I don’t think so,” I say, honestly, hoping I’m saying the right thing. “Obviously, I’ve had relationships, but I’d rather not discuss them in an interview.”
I give Emily an uncertain smile.
“But your songs are all about pain, aren’t they?” presses Emily. “The song which got you through, Girl Missing, it sounded like it was about a painful break-up.”
I consider this. “I don’t think our songs are about pain,” I say slowly. “I think they’re about… Feeling. Feeling things. When you feel things, you can move on from them. I think our songs are about rebirth.”
Emily seems pleased with this answer. She turns to Tammy.
Phew! Finally off the hook.
“Tammy, your mother came to the country, barely speaking English,” she says. “Is she proud to see her daughter succeed?”
I shoot Tammy a shocked glance to see if she’s offended by the offhand remark about her mother. I have no idea where the journalist got this information. But Tammy doesn’t seem to mind.
“Yeah she is,” says Tammy easily, though her face suggests this is too obvious to need answering. “What mother wouldn’t be proud?”
Emily checks her watch and purses her lips.
“And what’s changed for you all?” she asks, “Now you’ve successfully made it through to the show?”
“Well,” answers George, “For one thing, they treat us like all the other acts now. We’ve got a fancy room, and access to all the best equipment. So expect to see us do even better next week.”
“And what’s happening next?” prompts Emily, her pen moving furiously. “I hear the show has introduced a new concept – a midweek knockout round.”
“It’s the music video round,” says George. “We’re super excited.”
She doesn’t add, that all of us were more than a little dismayed to be told about this particular concept late last night.
According to the rules, we’re all to take part in a ‘quick-fire round’ – basically an extra knockout show to boost midweek ratings.
It was so completely unexpected, George was very vocal about the unfairness of it all – particularly when she found out we’d be teamed with Dev.as.station. Not that you’d know that now of course, to see her beaming at Emily.
“Is this the first time you’ve made a music video?” asks Emily.
We all nod.
“You’ve got only a few days to complete it, how does that make you feel?”
Emily is looking at me now.
“Well,” I say uncertainly. “We’ve already got an idea of the song. So that’s one major pressure gone. Other than that, we’ll just leave ourselves in the hands of the experts and work really hard.”
The pen scribbles away.
“And you’ll be working with another act, on your video?” Emily prompts.
“Yeah,” replies Tammy, who is particularly excited about this. “We’ll be collaborating with Dev.as.station.”
Emily leans forward. “You’re all happy about that?” she asks, searching our faces. “Good choice for collaboration?”
“Completely,” answers Tammy, her eyes shining. “We totally respect them as musicians, and we’re really looking forward to working on their music.”
My eyes slide to George, who I know for a fact is not too happy about the link up. But as I suspected, she’s far too controlled to let it show. Her face holds a neutral smile. Though her eyes are dead.
“That goes for you too George?” asks Emily.
Damn. She’s good. I’m impressed that the journalist has discerned George’s true feelings so readily. But it’s also disconcerting. What else has she figured out?
In the first part of the interview, Emily quizzed us on our feelings about all the judges, and I thought we answered well. Now I’m not so sure.
“Absolutely,” answers George, flicking her hair. “What Tammy said. We respect them as musicians.”
But not as people. I think filling in George’s sub-text. She’s never forgiven Dev.as.station for the fight which erupted at the Sing-Win party.
Personally, I feel the same way as Tammy. I’m looking forward to the collaboration. But I can understand George’s trepidation. Dev.as.station have a bad reputation.
“And what about the other acts?” asks Emily. “Deven and Scandelous are paired – but Seventh Heaven get to work with Lisa. Hardly seems fair?”
She eyes us carefully, scoping for a reaction.
I pray that Tammy doesn’t play into her hands. This was a particularly bitter pill for all the other acts to swallow. Seventh Heaven – already the favourites – got ‘randomly’ assigned a top singer for their music video.
Already people are talking about the show being rigged.
“Obviously, we’d love to be working with Lisa,” I say quickly, nervous that Tammy might interject with her views on the unfairness of it all. “But it was just the luck of the draw. It could have just as easily been us.”
“Could it?” asks Emily. “From what I hear, the press are already talking about a set-up. They think the show’s been pre-planned so the Seventh Heaven boys win.”
I shrug. “To be honest, the politics of the show are of the least interest to us,” I say bluntly. “All we want to do is our best. Maybe the public are bored of boy bands. Maybe they’re not. It comes down to a public vote and you can’t get fairer than that. And as you know,” I conclude, nailing Emily with a frank stare, “we’ve already had some bad luck with public perception and come out fighting.”
Emily gives a small smile. She knows what I’m referring to.
Before the last show, Scandelous set us up, framing us in a YouTube clip. She’s All That came out to strong audience antagonism in our first performance, but we turned it around.
“And what about Martin Clarke?” asks Emily, deftly changing the subject to yet another barbed question. “Rumour has it he’s not a fan of She’s All That. Surely it can’t be a good idea to fall out with a judge on the show? Particularly since he’s so involved in production?”
Something about the way Emily says it sounds like a warning.
We all bristle.
What does she know about our fall-out with Martin Clarke? Is he planning on taking revenge?
George is opening her mouth to give a politician’s answer, when Tammy jumps in.
“Martin wanted us to wear stripper costumes,” Tammy says angrily, “and force us to be this, porno dance act. That’s not us. So we said no. Now he hates us.”
Shit! Tammy!
I glance at George. She looks nervous.
Emily’s pen is moving fast, and I wonder how she’s interpreting Tammy’s honesty.
Then she looks up again.
“That was a brave decision,” says Emily, and for the first time, there’s a flash of affection in her expression.
Maybe she likes us after all.
“But you girls should be careful,” she continues
. “The music industry can be a bitter place. Take it from me.”
Emily closes her pad, as if sensing there’s no more dirt to be gleaned.
“That’s great girls,” she says, standing, and stowing her pad in her purse, as she throws it over her shoulder. “Sorry I have to rush off. Good luck in the next round. Hopefully we’ll do this again same time next week.”
Tammy and I smile nervously. George gives her a Miss World grin.
“You can count on it,” she says.
As we file out of the interview into the Sing-Win house, George is strangely silent. Then as soon as we’re alone, she suddenly erupts.
“What was all that stuff about you Summer?” she demands, “why did the journalist ask you so many questions?”
I hesitate, unsure of how to answer, since I don’t know myself.
“I mean,” storms George, “anyone listening, would think you’re the big star, and we’re just the back up. Why was she delving into all your personal life?”
“I don’t know,” I say with a frown. “If it makes you feel better George, I didn’t enjoy it.”
George’s face suggests she doesn’t quite believe me.
“Did Adam prime the journalist beforehand?” she asks. “Did he make sure you got extra coverage?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, offended. “What a thing to suggest!”
“Cut it out George,” says Tammy. “You’re just jealous. Of course the journalist asked Summer more questions. She is lead singer. And,” continues Tammy, “Summer happens to have an interesting background. She didn’t just have her parents pay her through music school.”
Ouch. Tammy should know not to dig at George’s privileged background.
“I thought you did most of the talking George,” I offer, attempting to calm things down before Tammy and George argue.
“But she didn’t ask me anything interesting,” pouts George. Although my remark seems to have soothed her somewhat.
We’re all silent for a moment, and as we walk up the stairs to our room, I check my phone distractedly.
I’ve got a missed called and a voicemail. The missed call is from a withheld number. But I already know who it’s from.
Adam.
My face breaks into a grin. He said he’d be arranging a surprise for tonight. I can’t wait to see what he’s got planned.